Microfilms & Stories by Carrie Ann Golden

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Heard this song on the radio the other day, and for the first time ever, I realized that the song was about a soldier missing home. I knew the words by heart, but its context never occurred to me before. Perhaps creating a recent video, Damaged, had my mind still on our military and their families when this new thought sunk in (finally). I’ve been told I’m naive, but this one took the cake and all the icing with it. Naturally, I needed to know more about the story behind the song, and hence this video was created.

Chapter Two

The four-some now seated in chairs around the large oval oak table as the waiter retrieves the menus.

“I will get your orders in.” And the short black man walks away.

Julie’s brown eyes carefully study the faces around the table as she slowly sips at her wine. “So, Brad,” and turns them solely to the man sitting to her right, “What on earth have you been up to since I last saw you?”

Brad grins as he leans back. “Nothing exciting. Just work.”

“Doing what?”

“Integrated marketing.”

“Marketing, huh?” She purses her lips, “For whom?”

“Altvision Communications.” He replies as he bit into a breadstick.

“Wow, one of the four media giants.” Her smile widen as she fingers her glass. “You must be one of the lowly assistants working his way up the career rung by now.”

My husband is a veteran who served in both the Army and Navy from the late 1980s through till about 1996. He has PTSD. And he’s haunted by particular events. He was present on the infamous Highway of Death at the start of the 1st Gulf War. What he did, and witnessed there—still gives him nightmares most nights. Many of the men he served with from those two plus days on the “Highway” have committed suicide.

War is horrible, and our soldiers pay a terrible price for it.

I wrote this little piece, and then created the video using pictures from that war. Many are disturbing and graphic so beware as you watch. For well over 18 years I’ve watched my husband struggle with PTSD, and the moral implications of those fateful days. I wish I could take those memories from him, but unfortunately they are his to bear, alone. All I can do is be there for him.

*Am starting a new story, an interactive kind, which means feedback from readers will determine the direction of the story. Read the first chapter, and then answer the poll. Your input will determine the story’s results! Enjoy 🙂

Chapter One

Fluffy white flakes drift from the sky on to the urban landscape below. Mazes of paved and cemented pathways spread across the city like a grid, nearly all are inhabited by flickering white and red lights. While the heavens fill with solemn hushes, the earth brims with noise and movements among the living and their worldly gadgets and possessions.

On a particular street level, two women walk briskly, huddled deep in their coats and scarves. White mists emanating from their faces as they huffed.